And now for something completely different…
This story is currently published under my sweet romance pen name, Jeanie Nicholson, mainly because I needed a reader magnet to build a separate mailing list and this was the only story I had that might appeal to that audience. An Edwardian fairy tale and love story with gearpunk elements which is decidedly NOT horror, it’s not my usual fare, but it’s also one of my favorite stories I’ve ever written.
I hope you enjoy it. It’s a bit on the long side, so I’ve divided it into two parts. Watch for part two next week.
He was shiny.
That’s what first drew her notice. Other men were bland and monochrome and hardly worthy of attention. But this one, he gleamed. He tried to hide it under a hat and dark glasses and gloves and other human trappings, keeping his head down and avoiding other human eyes, but she saw. That first glimmer of light drew her to him as the sunlight glinted off his cheek, and as she watched him, his sleeve rode up and exposed shiny brass skin. He was a curiosity, and the elders had always said that she was a dangerously curious thing.
So of course she followed him.
He lived in a small cottage at the edge of the wood, well outside of town. The house had a lovely garden, but it was the things inside that held her interest. Through the window she spied even more curiosities and wonders: birds and butterflies and mice and other small, delicate creatures made of the same shiny stuff that the man was made of—at least partly.
For once inside, he stopped hiding, and she could see him truly. He removed his hat and glasses and revealed a head and half a face covered in plates of polished brass. Where his left eye should have been, there was a socket filled with cogs and gears and other parts she had seen on the machines of men. He removed his coat and gloves and rolled up his sleeves, revealing an arm made of polished wood and brass, and a hand with coppery joints that could flex and grasp as well as his pale, fleshy hand.
He went to the table where his brass menagerie lay dormant, picked up something that looked like a spy glass and affixed it to the empty eye socket. Then he took a key from his vest pocket and began winding each small creature, one by one, bringing them to life.
She hovered at the window and watched, delighted and mesmerized by this clever man and his creations, as copper butterfly wings fluttered and brass birds sang and flew and mock mice raced around the surface of the table. The butterfly came near the window, and the wings were a sight to behold, covered with intricate scroll work, gleaming and delicate. A pang of envy shot through her as she glanced back at her own wings, wishing they were even half as splendid.
The butterfly shot away from the window and she found herself pressed up against the glass, gazing after it with longing, wanting only to go inside and have a closer look.
She never saw the cat.
SHE AWOKE INSIDE A cage. It was large, with a bed of soft rags covering the bottom. The bars were spaced too far apart to actually hold her. Even so, she felt a tightness in her chest that boiled over into panic. She tried to bolt to her feet, but she felt heavy and unbalanced and everything hurt. She fell back onto the pile of rags with a small cry of surprise and frustration.
“You’re awake!” The shiny man appeared before the cage and bent down to peer in at her through the bars. He wore his eyepiece. Gears clicked and whirred as it focused in on her. “How are you feeling?”
She stared up at him in fear and wonder, scooting further back on her makeshift bed.
“Please pardon me,” the man said, then muttered, “I don’t even know if you can understand me.” More directly he asked, “Do you understand English?”
Hesitantly, she nodded, and he smiled. Something in it made her relax a little. But only just. “I must apologize for Josephine. She’s never seen a... a pixie before.” He let out a nervous laugh. “Neither have I, for that matter. But I’m sure she mistook you for a butterfly. She loves to chase them, you see. That’s why I put her outside when I do my work.”
Again she nodded, then glanced around uncertainly at the bars of the cage.
“Oh, don’t worry. This isn’t meant to keep you. It’s only to keep Josephine away while you recover.” He turned and crossed the room, scooped up a large gray cat and deposited her out the front door. “Out you go, Josephine. Please stay out of trouble.” He then returned and unlatched the door to the cage. “There. See? You’re perfectly free to come and go. Only, I wouldn’t recommend it. You’ve a lot of healing left to do. I’m afraid your injuries were quite severe. Can you speak?”
She blinked at the rapid subject change. “Yes,” she said.
His face lit up when she spoke. “Your voice. It’s quite musical. Almost like the ringing of a bell.” He pulled up a chair and sat facing her. With his face more on her level, she felt a little more at ease. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Professor Phineas W. Farnsworth. But just Phineas will do. Do you have a name?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said again, “but you probably couldn’t pronounce it.”
“Oh. Well, we must call you something.” He looked around, as if trying to locate a name floating in the air. His face lit up in that same look of delight. “I know. What about Nutmeg?” Her face must have expressed her opinion of the name, because he quickly amended, “Or simply Meg. Yes, Meg suits you. What do you think?”
At least it wasn’t a spice. She nodded.
Again he smiled, then stood and went to a small kitchen at the back of the cottage. He pumped a lever once, then returned to hand her a thimble filled with water. She accepted it eagerly and drank it down. “Not too fast,” he admonished. “You’ll make yourself ill. Are you hungry?”
She shook her head as she handed back the thimble. He looked relieved. “It’s just as well. I’m not sure what I have that you could eat. But I can get you something. Only tell me what it is you need.”
Again, she tried to stand. It was difficult to balance on the rags, and she still felt heavy. “Slowly,” said Phineas, reaching a hand inside the cage. She took hold of his finger to steady herself. That’s when she realized the weight was attached to her back. She looked over her shoulder and froze in a moment of shock.
“It was your wings, you see,” said Phineas. “I’m afraid the damage was quite extensive. I... I don’t know how it is with pixies—whether they’ll grow back, or if you can heal yourself. But I was already in the process of designing a mechanical dragonfly and, well, the wings seemed to be the perfect size.”
They were. They were so delicate, seeming to have been spun out of copper rather than carved. They were attached to leather straps that fit over her shoulders and buckled at her waist. A small lever stuck out of her chest. She caressed it, and looked questioningly at the professor.
“That’s for controlling them,” he said. “Of course, it will take practice, and probably some adjustments, for you to learn to fly with them as you did with your former wings. Oh, and you can take them off and put them back on again. Or simply remove them for good if you are indeed able to heal yourself. But if not, well, we can work on a more permanent solution.” As he said this he rubbed his mechanical arm with his good hand. It didn’t appear to be a conscious gesture. “There’s a small switch under the lever. Flip that to open and close the wings.”
She located the switch and pushed it to one side. Behind her, with a click and a whir the coppery wings sprang to life. Gently, she tried the lever, and they rose up and down in a slow flutter. They were so splendid, much more so than her old wings, and she wanted nothing more than to fly with them at once. But she still felt heavy and weak, and besides, she needed to remember her manners.
“Phineas,” she said, “you have invited me into your home and given me hospitality and shown me kindness. For that, I must grant you a single wish.”
Phineas didn’t hesitate. “Then I wish for you to be whole, to be restored to the way you were before Josephine got hold of you. Can you do that?”
The selflessness of his wish surprised her, and touched her deeply. But it also made her heart sink. He looked so hopeful, so earnest, and she didn’t want to disappoint him. She looked back at her clockwork wings, as magical to her as she must be to him.
“Perhaps,” she fibbed, and looked up at the shiny man, so full of wonders and surprises. “But not today.”
FOR A TIME, THEY PRACTICED. Meg didn’t track time the way humans do, but day turned into night and back into day, and the moon waxed fuller, and each day she grew stronger and improved her balance while wearing the wings.
Each morning started the same. Phineas arose and put the cat out before opening the cage and handing her her wings. She wore them every day, despite not yet being able to use them. Then he made breakfast. At first he fussed about finding the right foods for her, but she found that she liked eggs and sausages and scones better than the berries and beetles she usually survived on, and she could stomach them just fine. They ate together while he told her about his plans for the day. She loved to watch him gesticulate as he spoke excitedly about the projects he would work on. The clicking and whirring and gentle tick-tocking of his gears filled her with delight.
Each evening ended the same. After supper and a brandy (only a thimbleful for her), she would reluctantly remove her wings and give them to Phineas for safe keeping. He would tuck her in and ask if she was ready to grant his wish.
“Not today,” she would tell him, and he shut her up safe before letting the cat back inside. She would watch him quietly putter around his work table, putting away his tools and his creations and preparing everything for the next day. Then he would retire to his room and shut the door. Soon after, the light underneath it would blink out, and Meg slept.
In between, she would practice while Phineas worked. At first she practiced walking and balancing under the weight of the vest, building up her strength. Sometimes she would sit on the edge of his work table, playing with the lever as she practiced controlling the speed and direction of the wings.
By the time the moon reached its fullness, she felt ready to fly, and she was growing impatient. She told this to Phineas.
“If you’re certain you’re ready,” he said, although he didn’t seem convinced, “then tomorrow we’ll give it a try. Unless, of course, you decide to grant my wish. Then you’ll have your own wings back and can fly wherever and whenever you desire.”
She knew she couldn’t keep putting him off indefinitely. To do so would be against the laws of her kind. But she still hoped to find a way to satisfy his wish. Besides, she longed to fly with her lovely clockwork wings.
“Not today,” she told him once again.
HER FIRST FLIGHT WAS clumsy, as were the ones that followed. Despite all her practice, her course was erratic and her landings nearly always broke something. Once or twice they nearly broke her. After her fifth crash landing, Phineas brought the cat in and took Meg outside where there were fewer things to break.
“Don’t try to do too much at once,” he warned her. “It’s not like flying with your old wings. Your body has to learn how to work with these, and that takes time.”
She tried to do as he said, but she had already waited so long. She was determined to master these wings and make them truly hers. Again and again she took flight. Again and again she felt awkward and heavy and failed to make them take her exactly where she wanted. Again and again she landed in a tumble and sat there, bruised and battered, eyes stinging with pent up frustration.
But she kept at it. She refused to give up. At lunch time Phineas had to bring her food and urge her to stop and eat. Before she knew it, supper time had come, and it was starting to grow dark. Phineas went inside to prepare their dinner, but she kept trying. And kept getting it wrong.
With Phineas no longer watching, it became more difficult to keep her composure. After yet another crash landing into the rose bushes, Meg unbuckled the mechanical wings and threw them on the ground as she burst into tears.
This was nothing like flying with her old wings. With those, all she’d had to do was think. She didn’t even have to do that, really. They simply worked on instinct. But these wings weren’t truly part of her, and the vest was heavy and clunky, and using her hands to operate them as she went was slow and clumsy. This would never work. She would never fly with her clockwork wings the way she had with her natural ones.
For the first time, she wanted to be able to grant Phineas’s wish and restore her old wings. But that wasn’t how magic worked. She could change things into different things, or make things go away, but she couldn’t bring back things that had ceased to be.
If only these new wings were a part of her the way her old ones had been. Then she could fly with them as naturally as she had before she’d gotten hurt.
A sudden light dawned inside her as hope filled her heart. Perhaps...
The law said she owed Phineas his wish. The letter of his wish was impossible. But the spirit of the wish... that was something else. That, she could grant.
A giddy laugh burst from her chest. She picked up the wings and put them back on. Then she crossed her arms over her chest, pulling the vest tight, and focused on the wish. Warmth filled her whole body, then drew in and settled in the middle of her back before intensifying into searing heat. Meg cried out in pain and dropped to her knees. She knelt there a moment, panting as the pain subsided. Then she climbed to her feet. She felt lighter, but could still feel a weight attached to her back. The vest was gone, and so were the lever and switch.
She took a deep breath and held it. And then, without thinking about it, she shot up into the air, the copper wings fluttering behind her as fast as her natural wings ever had, tinkling like tiny chimes as she went. Effortlessly, she circled the garden, laughing as she flew, and landed with ease atop the small fountain.
The cottage door opened, spilling electric light into the garden. “Meg?” Phineas called as he stepped outside. “I thought I heard you cry out. Are you...”
Before he could finish, she darted up and circled his head. “Look, Phineas! I’ve granted your wish at last! Isn’t it wonderful?” She twirled in the air before him.
“This... this isn’t what I wished, Meg. What have you done?”
He held out his good hand, and she settled in it, letting her wings droop with disappointment. “I know it’s not exactly what you wished, but I couldn’t bring back my old wings. What’s gone is gone. I didn’t want to tell you, because I knew it would make you sad. But I’m not sad. I love my new wings. They’re so much more beautiful than my old ones.”
He sighed. “This isn’t what I wanted for you.”
His sadness made her angry. “I thought you’d be pleased! Anyway, it’s the best I could do, and this is so much better than wearing that vest. Please be happy for me, Phineas. I’m just like you now. I’m special.”
He looked stricken by her words instead of cheered, and at last she thought she understood. She reached out and held his thumb. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to leave you now. You’re my friend. I’ll stay with you always.”
At last, Phineas smiled. But the sadness remained in his eyes.
Want to read more of my short stories? Here are a few you might enjoy:
You can find more of my short fiction in these collections:
Interesting title!